Ancient India: living traditions @ the British Museum

‘God – or his avatars, manifestations – is believed to dwell in the sacred images. The clothing and adornments are devotional offerings, expressions of a loving relationship with God.’

Hinduism, Buddhism and Jainism – some 2 billion people follow these three major world religions. This fabulous, beautifully staged and atmospheric exhibition at the British Museum brings together 180 objects – imposing statues and friezes, vibrant paintings, glittering coins and bracelets, drawings and manuscripts, as well as half a dozen videos – to explain the origins of the imagery and iconography of these three religions and (in the videos) how they live on into contemporary religious practice.

The exhibition focuses on the period between 200 BC and AD 600. It was during this period that artistic depictions of the gods and enlightened teachers of these three religions dramatically changed from purely symbolic or abstract images to showing them as human figures. It was during this period that much of the iconic imagery and attributes that today’s followers are familiar with, first emerged.

A highlight of the show is the evolution of depictions of the Buddha, tracing the transformation from symbolic representations to the human form we recognise today. In contrast, images of the Hindu goddess Lakshmi, associated with wealth and good fortune, have remained largely unchanged for over two millennia.

Installation view of Ancient India: living traditions at the British Museum showing the opening three statues (photo by the author)

Right at the start the visitor is confronted by these three statues, one each from the Buddhist, Hindu and Jain traditions, and invites us to ‘meet’ (from left to right) the Buddha, Ganesha and a tirthankara.

And straightaway we are also faced with the exhibition’s strengths and challenges. Its strengths are that:

  • it is stylishly designed, with hanging curtains dividing different sections, with soft lighting and ambient sounds (featuring the sound of rivers, monsoon rains, thunder and wind blowing through grass, animals, people worshipping in temples, monasteries and shrines, bells, gongs, cymbals, horns and drums)
  • you are subtly aware of the gentle scent of sandalwood in the background
  • it is extremely informative
  • it contains many really beautiful objects, particularly the many striking statues

Installation view of Ancient India: living traditions at the British Museum (photo by the author)

Its challenge is that describing the iconography of not one but three religions entails a dazzling amount of information. To be more precise, I was a little overwhelmed by the number of numbers involved in each of these religious traditions.

As I went from one wall panel to the next I reflected on how relatively simple the Christian tradition I was raised in is: the Catholic tradition has a vast number of saints, but in essence Christianity boils down to: there is one God, he created earth, heaven and hell; humans disobeyed him and their disobedience is recreated in each generation and augmented by all our individual sins; so he sent his son Jesus to die as an act of atonement, as expiation for our sins; and everyone who truly believes in him will be saved from hell and go to spend eternity in heaven.

Similarly, the pantheon of the ancient Greeks contains numerous demigods and spirits of woods and rivers and so on, but the core is relatively straightforward: gods of heaven, sea and underworld, each with a wife; gods of war, beauty and wisdom; a messenger, a blacksmith – ten or so gods you need to remember – and these were copied or mapped onto the traditional Roman gods and then disseminated across Europe and round the Mediterranean.

It’s even simpler for Judaism which, beneath its plethora of rules and customs, depends on one creator god, Yahweh; let alone Islam, again festooned with customs, saints and so on, but which can be boiled down to the Shahada, ‘There is no god but God and Muhammad is his prophet’.

But here, right at the start of the exhibition, you learn that these three Indian religions – Buddhism, Hinduism and Jainism – contained a sometimes bewildering multiplicity of entities. If you’re brought up in the tradition no doubt you know them from the cradle, or at least know which ones are important to your community. But as an outsider, trying to process the sheer number of beings, across so many interlinked but separate traditions, and stretching far beyond the borders of India (the exhibition includes a section about the spread of these religions to South East Asia and beyond), is quite a challenge.

Numbers

Jainism

Jains follow the teachings of twenty-four tirthankaras – enlightened beings – who are human rather than divine, and are attended by male and female nature spirits. They also worship some gods.

To help them, they have sixteen goddesses of knowledge called Vidyadevisvidya means knowledge in Sanskrit and devi means goddess. They are usually depicted holding a manuscript and sometimes a pen.

All 24 Jain enlightened teachers have identical bodies because they are depicted as they are about to enter the heavens – the realm of liberated souls at the top of the universe. So that devotees can tell them apart, symbols from stories connected with their lives are used.

Jains follow the Three Jewels – right faith, right knowledge, right conduct – to enable their immortal souls to live in a state of bliss. Ahimsa (non-violence) is central to their faith, as is the belief that humans, animals and plants have living souls.

Parshvanatha is the 23rd tirthankara, depicted in the exhibition in a sandstone sculpture.

The Jain universe is divided into three worlds – the hells, the middle world and the heavens. As beings advance spiritually, their souls are eventually liberated from the cycle of rebirth and reach the heavens. The three worlds are depicted in a vivid painted cotton map showing the two-and-a-half continents of the middle world, where humans reside.

Map of the Jain universe. Gujarat or Rajasthan, India (1700 to 1900) © The Trustees of the British Museum

Buddhism

Buddhism is based on the teachings and philosophy of Siddhartha Gautama, a prince who became known as the Buddha after gaining enlightenment. He taught the Four Noble Truths, helping others to also achieve enlightenment.

Hinduism

Many Hindu teachings emphasise the four aims of lifedharma (righteous duty), artha (prosperity), kama (desires) and moksha (liberation from the cycle of rebirth).

Vishnu is said to have ten principal avatars, known as the Dashavatara, who appear to restore cosmic order and protect righteousness. While these ten are the most celebrated, texts like the Bhagavata Purana suggest his incarnations are innumerable.

Hindus believe Vishnu uses the different incarnations to preserve order on earth and to save the world and humankind from disaster. His first form is Matsya the fish, who rescued the first man from a great flood. Here, Vishnu emerges from Matsya’s mouth. Rama, Vishnu’s seventh avatar, is a central character in India’s epic poem the Ramayana.

Images of Hindu goddesses have many features in common with those of female nature spirits, including floral headdresses, plentiful jewellery and full figures. During the first century AD, an important moment of artistic innovation occurred when deities began to be shown with multiple arms. Each hand was held in a particular gesture or carried something which enabled the devotee to identify the god.

Overlap

Maybe the biggest single learning from the whole exhibition is the surprising extent to which these three major religious traditions had common origins, often in local nature gods and spirits and how, even when they’d become distinct belief systems, they still strongly influenced and interpenetrated each other.

There is a surprising amount of overlap among the gods and spirits and guardians and scared figures of Buddhism, Hinduism and Jainism and the exhibition includes objects demonstrating how nature spirits or gods or guardians from one tradition morphed into another, or highlighting the common origins of many traditions, figures and stories.

Some learnings

It is an information-rich exhibition which, as I said, I struggled to fully absorb and process. Here are some choice learnings:

Nagas and naginis are male and female serpent spirits who control life-giving waters. These nature spirits grant wealth, fertility and protection but they can also kill with a single bite. Among the most ancient deities to be venerated in India, they are usually depicted as many-headed cobras. Such was their enduring power and popularity that they were incorporated into Jain, Buddhist and Hindu art.

A nagini is a female sacred serpent. She has a woman’s torso, but still has her snake tail and her canopy rising above her head. Such figures are erected at temples or by trees and bodies of water, where they are venerated for their life-giving powers.

A nagaraja or snake king. Divine snakes are usually represented as many-headed cobras and snake kings tend to have five or seven hoods. Images of sacred snakes are often placed at entrances to sacred buildings – whether Hindu, Jain or Buddhist – to protect them.

Ancient sculptures show Hindu gods taming the powerful and ancient snake kings Kaliya, Vasuki and Ananta Sesha.

Manasa is a snake goddess venerated by Buddhists and Hindus alike for her ability to provide prosperity, children and protection from snakes. She can also cause harm with a deadly snakebite. Depicted as a beautiful woman surrounded by snakes, she usually holds a serpent or a child.

Yakshas are male nature spirits associated with trees, mountains, bodies of water and wealth. Widespread across India, yakshas were gradually adopted by Jains, Buddhists and Hindus, who used their imagery and attributes when they began to depict their gods and enlightened teachers in human form.

The famous elephant god Ganesha has yaksha origins as indicated by his elephant head and potbelly. Ganesha symbolises wisdom and new beginnings.

Installation view of Ancient India: living traditions at the British Museum showing a 2nd century AD statue of Ganesha (photo by the author)

Kubera is the king of yakshas and also the god of wealth, emphasised by his potbelly and plentiful jewellery.

Yakshis are powerful female nature spirits able to bestow abundance and fertility, as well as death and disease. Originally independent goddesses, many yakshis were given male consorts when adopted into Jainism, Buddhism and Hinduism.

Yakshis are always depicted as full-figured, extravagantly bejewelled women standing and looking directly at the viewer.

A stupa is a dome-shaped memorial shrine built over sacred relics, built by both Buddhists and Jainists.

Mathura was a major ancient centre of production for Jain, Buddhist and Hindu devotional sculpture in northern India. The earliest known and definite images of Jain tirthankaras (enlightened teachers) depicted in human form are from here, perhaps dating to about 100 BC. The earliest dated figurative sculptures of the Buddha that survive today were produced in Mathura.

Incidentally, the earliest images of the Buddha in human form were created independently in Mathura (India), the Swat Valley (Pakistan) and Gandhara (Pakistan and Afghanistan).

Ayagapatas, square or rectangular tablets of homage depicting tirthankaras, shrines and deities, are a uniquely Jain innovation. They often have inscriptions from donors, many of whom were women, who gained spiritual merit through their donations.

Bodhisattvas are beings who seek enlightenment, whereas great bodhisattvas have gained additional powers over many lifetimes, enabling them to perform miracles and help others on the path to enlightenment. There are generally accepted to be eight great bodhisattvas, although other traditions speak of four (Chinese Buddhism) or as many as 16.

A distinctive feature of Buddha images from both Sri Lanka and southern India is the flame-shaped ushnisha on top of his head, representing his enlightenment.

Individual gods

According to Buddhist tradition, Hariti was associated with smallpox, and the stealing and killing of children to feed her large family. To show Hariti how much these parents were suffering, the Buddha briefly hid one of Hariti’s children beneath his rice bowl. She was so distraught that from that moment on she vowed to protect all children and women in childbirth.

Isakki and Pecci are worshipped in Tamil Nadu, India’s southernmost state, and among Tamil communities living elsewhere. Devotees believe that such goddesses were women who perhaps died during pregnancy or childbirth and were later deified.

Mount Mandara rests on the back of Kurma, a tortoise and one of the god Vishnu’s bodily forms on earth.

The great bodhisattvas include figures such as Tara and Avalokiteshvara.

Statistics

I like numbers. The show prompted me to do some research. Here’s the number of followers of each religion worldwide:

  • Hindus – 1.2 billion, 15% of global population
  • Buddhists – 535 million, 7% of global population
  • Jainists – 12 million (but tricky to pin down because many Jainists identify as Hindu), about 0.15% of global population

And in the UK:

  • Hindus – 1 million, 1.7% of UK population (cf Muslims 4 million, 6%)
  • Buddhists – 275,000, 0.4% of population (around the same as Jews, 313,000, 0.6%)
  • Jainists – 25,000

South East Asia

Buddhist and Hindu devotional art spread along sea and land-based trading networks to Southeast, Central and East Asia. Sacred imagery and religious ideas from India were adopted and adapted to merge with local beliefs and styles, producing unique depictions of Buddhist and Hindu deities and enlightened teachers. Enough core features were retained, such as the ushnisha on the Buddha’s head symbolising his wisdom, to enable devotees from different regions and cultures to still recognise the gods and teachers depicted.

New and distinct architecture also emerged to house these sacred images. Fascinatingly, the largest surviving ancient temple complexes for both Buddhism and Hinduism are found, not in India, but in Southeast Asia, such as Angkor Wat in Cambodia.

Gallery

Shiva

In some of the earliest representations of the Hindu god Shiva, he is depicted as Ardhanarishvara which represents the divine couple Shiva and Parvati. In this painting, Shiva is shown on the left with the river Ganges flowing from his matted hair while he carries a trident and drum. His consort Parvati wears a crown and holds prayer beads.

Ardhanarishvara, ‘lord who is half woman’, Shiva and Parvati combined in one deity, about 1790 to 1810 © The Trustees of the British Museum

Buddha

The Buddha was first represented symbolically, through footprints or a tree, for example, and was only later depicted in human form. This gold reliquary might represent the earliest dateable image of the Buddha shown as a man, as coins found with it could date to the late 1st century AD. The Buddha stands with his right hand raised in the gesture of reassurance and is flanked by the gods Indra (right) and Brahma (left).

Bimaran casket, about 1st century © The Trustees of the British Museum

Gaja-Lakshmi

Gaja-Lakshmi (‘Elephant Lakshmi’) has yakshi (female nature spirit) origins. She bestows good fortune and is one of the most popular Hindu, Buddhist and Jain goddesses. The dark bodies of the elephants symbolise monsoon clouds filled with much-anticipated rain ready to bring the earth to life. This image so successfully conveys the message of abundance and fertility that it has remained largely unchanged for the last 2,000 years.

Gaja-Lakshmi (‘Elephant Lakshmi’) goddess of good fortune, about 1780 © The Trustees of the British Museum

Ganesha

Hindu ideas and imagery flowed in both directions between India and Southeast Asia. The elephant-headed god Ganesha is part of Southeast Asia’s diverse religious landscapes. This sculpture shows Ganesha’s traditional attributes, such as his broken tusk, axe and prayer beads, along with some differences. Javanese artists often portrayed him with skulls, his feet together and carrying an empty bowl rather than one filled with sweets, indicating that varying communities understood and worshipped him differently.

Ganesha made in Java from volcanic stone, about AD 1000 to 1200 © The Trustees of the British Museum

A yaksha

This mottled pink sandstone figure represents a yaksha (male nature spirit). Yakshas can grant prosperity but also make life difficult if not properly placated. This is represented by the fierce or scowling expressions on these yakshas. Leaves sprout above this yaksha’s ears which possibly connects him with trees.

Head of a grimacing yaksha, about 2nd or 3rd century © Ashmolean Museum, University of Oxford

Naga

Stone plaque with the rearing figure of a five-headed cobra. Plaques like these can be difficult to date as some have been placed by sacred tree shrines for over a thousand years. Snake veneration belongs to the most ancient and potent substrate of Indian religion. Today, across India, popular veneration of divine snakes by followers of different religions still centres on devotional images such as this one.

Naga, about 17th century © The Trustees of the British Museum

Silk Buddha

From about the third century BC, following trading networks, Buddhist missionaries took their faith and its devotional art beyond India. In different regions, Buddhist art merged with local ideas and art to form new artistic styles. This is one of the oldest and best-preserved paintings from Cave 17 – the famous ‘Library Cave’ at Dunhuang. It shows the Buddha, seated between bodhisattvas, with his hands in the gesture of preaching This composition originates from earlier devotional images from India which became popular across East Asia.

Silk watercolour painting of the Buddha, China, about AD 701 to 750 © The Trustees of the British Museum

Seated Jain

This marble figure depicts a Jain tirthankara (enlightened teacher). Tirthankaras are human, not divine, and the earliest certain representations of them in human form were shaped in Mathura, possibly in about the first century BC. Seated in meditation, the tirthankara has the sacred symbol of an endless knot in the middle of his chest.

Seated Jain enlightened teacher meditating, about 1150 to 1200 © The Trustees of the British Museum


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The Imaginary Institution of India: Art 1975 to 1998 @ the Barbican

Anyone wanting to skip my comments can go straight to the gallery of images, a third of the way through this review.

Barbican art is big

The great blessing and curse of the Barbican Art Gallery is that it’s so huge. It has four large open-plan spaces on the ground floor (which always house very large works or installations), three alcoves running off the side corridor, while the first floor gallery contains 8 more room-sized alcoves – so about 15 distinct spaces in total.

This sheer size explains why the Barbican’s art exhibitions are routinely epic in scope and scale, and this new one, ‘Imaginary Institution of India: Art 1975 to 1998’, is no exception. It features nearly 150 works by 30 artists across the full range of media including painting, drawing. sculpture, photography, installation and film.

The dates

The exhibition takes its start and end points from two pivotal moments in India’s post-independence history – the declaration of the State of Emergency by Indira Gandhi in 1975 and the Pokhran Nuclear Tests in 1998. As the curators point out, these 23 years were marked by social upheaval, economic instability and rapid urbanisation. But they’re also a kind of introduction into the way other parts of the world don’t follow our timelines. Neither 1975 nor 1998 are particularly significant years in British political cultural life. These key political moments, like much else in the exhibition, come from a different culture and history.

Woke

A couple more general points. Art exhibitions in general represent a kind of advance guard of wokeness and political correctness, and the Barbican is at the forefront of these up-to-the-minute discourses. Reading their wall labels and captions can feel like reading an omnibus of Guardian editorials. Thus I predicted before I went that there would be displays about feminist, LGBTQ+ and indigenous art, and I wasn’t disappointed. Here’s an example, a paintings by the overtly gay painter Bhupen Khakhar.

‘Grey Blanket’ by Bhupen Khakhar (1998) © Estate of Bhupen Khakhar

The free booklet

Talking of wall labels, this exhibition is a bit unusual in not having any. Most exhibitions feature a big wall label introducing each room and then captions for each particular work. Here’s there’s none of that. The curators have chosen to put all the text into a very nicely produced and surprisingly ample free booklet, complete with a Timeline of Social and Political Events in India 1975 to 1998, and a Glossary of Indian terms. All that indicates which work is which is a simple number printed on the wall or dais beside them. This makes the whole exhibition feel unusually clean and uncluttered, and the booklet feels like a very generous gift and memento.

Too dark to read

However there is a catch with the booklet concept, which is that the curators have decided to use very low light levels throughout the exhibition, apart from spots shining directly onto the works. Unfortunately, this makes it quite difficult, often impossible, for an old guy like me to read the handout, even with my glasses on, even leaning towards the artworks to try and get better light, and I can’t believe I’m the only one. Maybe they’ll adjust the lighting levels as the show progresses…

Installation view of ‘The Imaginary Institution of India: Art 1975 to 1998’ at the Barbican showing terracotta heads by Himmat Shah in the foreground and abstract paintings by Jagdish Swaminathan on the wall in the background (photo by the author)

Extraordinary variety

As to the works, the curators have gone to great trouble to ensure that there’s something for everyone.

Large At the large end of the scale there’s a shed-sized installation titled ‘House’ by Vivan Sundaram. This is close to a life-sized wooden figure standing at the centre of a rosette of agricultural tools (‘The Tools’ by N. N. Rimzon). There’s a hexagonal shelter formed from painted screens (‘Shamiana’ by Nilima Sheikh), a strange skeletal mannekin covered in purple velvet (‘Desert Queen’ by Anita Dube), a set of coloured ropes hanging from the wall (‘Untitled’ by Sheela Gowda) and a big colourful canvas suspended across the ceiling (also part of Nilima Sheikh’s ‘Shamiana’ installation).

Installation view of ‘The Imaginary Institution of India: Art 1975 to 1998’ at the Barbican showing the big painted canopy suspended from the ceiling by Nilima Sheikh (photo by the author)

Small At the small end of the scale there’s a series of lovely drawings of holy animals done in a kind of naive decorative style by Jangarh Singh Shyam; and a set of brilliant metal sculptures packed with strange humanoid figures cast in bronze by Meera Mukherjee.

For feminists there’s a room featuring a series of 19 black-and-white photos by Sheba Chhachhi featuring seven women activists from the 1990s (‘Seven Lives and a Dream,’); and an upsetting set of 12 A4-sized paintings by Nilima Sheikh following the life of Champa, a carefree teenage girl who was married off while still a child, abused in her new home, and then murdered for her dowry by her husband and in-laws.

Indigenous art There’s a lovely series of black-and-white photos by Jyoti Bhatt capturing indigenous artists at work on wall and floor paintings. This is next to a series of upsetting colour photos documenting the 1984 Union Carbide disaster by Pablo Bartholomew.

Gay 1 The first gay room features eight colour photos of gay men staged among famous Delhi landmarks by Sunil Gupta. Gupta’s was the only name I recognised since he at one point moved to New York and I’ve seen his photos of the New York gay community in numerous other exhibitions. The photos are given droll and sarcastic text captions. I especially liked the one which reads:

People operate here harassing people and intimidating them with beatings and extortion. Sometimes they just want a blowjob.

Yes, sometimes men just want a blowjob – if a gay man says that, it’s a bold declaration, challenging societal expectations and interrogating heteronormativity; if a straight man says it, not so much. One of the many reasons to enjoy queer art is the queer artist’s ability to be completely candid about sex in a way that a heterosexual male artist would be wise not to attempt…

Gay 2 The second gay room features paintings by Bhupen Khakhar. I admired the candid way these depicted that taboo part of human anatomy, the erect penis. Considering how much trouble they’ve caused to untold billions through all history, it’s remarkable how few erect penises you get in art of any kind. I didn’t really like Khakhar’s naive home-made style but I admired his willies.

Struggling to understand Indian art

This is a challenge. I have only a shaky grasp of British art, a reasonable understanding of selected spots of European art, and a loose hold on American art (despite it being everywhere) because even in art you think you know well, there are always hidden depths and meanings. There are always traditions and currents and precedents the artists were inspired by, or are reacting against, are reinterpreting, reviving, critiquing and so on. Nonetheless, as an inhabitant of the Euro-American world, I feel I have a reasonable grasp of its visual (dramatic, filmic and musical) languages.

But Indian art? Despite having been to 2 or 3 exhibitions of it, I’m all too aware that it comes from a world almost completely closed to me, a world of visual iconography, traditions, religions and political movements, local cultures and languages which are way beyond my experience or understanding.

Therefore it’s challenging, this exhibition, because so many of the works seem to be coming out of traditions or mixtures and updatings and reinterpretations of contexts and traditions which I have no feel for.

What’s more, a lot of the art is obviously very political, kicking off with responses to the state of emergency instituted by Indira Gandhi in 1975 and taking in war with Pakistan, the rise of communalism and incipient Hindu nationalism, the spectacular growth of India’s cities and comcomitant loss of many rural traditions, the rise of Indian feminism with campaigns against suttee, honour killing, femicide and so on. I can read long explanations about these things but found it very hard to really relate to them. Hard to become as involved as, presumably, an Indian visitor would be.

The exhibition is a big bold window onto an art world most of us are not very familiar with at all. There was plenty to enjoy but quite a lot which I felt was only so-so – clumsily naive paintings, abstract designs I felt had been done earlier and better elsewhere, installations I felt I’d seen before somewhere else … but then it crossed my mind that maybe I was wrong, maybe I was misreading it, maybe I’m a victim of my own ignorance. Hard to tell whether my taste is valid or just trapped in the parochial world of the Anglosphere… So I tried my best to give everything the benefit of the doubt and to let the art teach and educate me in how to see it, rather than viewing it through blinkered Anglophone spectacles…

Press gallery

The following are the official press images, accompanied by the curators’ original captions i.e. none of it is written by me. Why? To give you as much of the original source information as possible, to let you make up your own minds.

Speechless City by Gulammohammed Sheik (1975)

A forbidding glow pervades ‘Speechless City’. Foraging cattle and wild dogs huddle around abandoned dwellings in a town empty of inhabitants. Evoking the repressiveness of the Emergency era (1975 to 1977) and referencing the eruption of Hindu-Muslim riots in Gujarat from 1969 onwards, Gulammohammed Sheikh made this painting while teaching at his alma mater, Maharaja Sayajirao University, Baroda (Vadodara). The desolate urban landscape suggests the aftermath of an unknown, terrible event. The work originally featured a fleeing figure, which Sheikh later painted out to create a scene devoid of people.

‘Speechless City’ by Gulammohammed Sheik (1975) © 2024 Gulammohammed Sheikh.
Courtesy of The Artist and Vadehra Art Gallery

Village Opera-2 by Madhvi Parekh (1975)

Madhvi Parekh’s oil paintings depict remembered landscapes from both her childhood village of Sanjaya, Gujarat, and her subsequent travels. She painted ‘Village Opera-2’ after attending an artist’s camp organised by artist G. R. Santosh in Kashmir in 1975. The copper pots she saw there inspired the black anthropomorphic figures at the centre of this work. Working first with oil paint, Parekh then used oil pastels to add small, vibrant creatures which resemble birds, fish, snakes and amphibians. The scene floats in a colourful net of dots and lines, patterns drawn from the folk crafts of Rangoli and embroidery that she had practised as a child. Initiated into art by her artist husband Manu Parekh, Madhvi Parekh began to paint only after leaving Sanjaya, and with memory as their subject, her paintings provide a way back to the idyll of village life. “I have never forgotten the sights and sounds of my village,” she says. “I carry them with me everywhere and, although they are often combined with elements I have imbibed in the city, they still endure.”

‘Village Opera-2’ by Madhvi Parekh (1975) © Madhvi Parekh. Courtesy DAG

This was, I think, my favourite piece in the show, possibly because it reminds me of Paul Klee. It was one of the very few pieces which seemed happy.

Dhakka by Sudhir Patwardhan (1977)

Sudhir Patwardhan’s large-scale paintings visualise the effects of urbanisation on the body of the individual city dweller and the landscape of the city. A practising radiologist till 2005, Patwardhan uses his art to articulate stories of social struggle. His emphasis on figuration is a result of his belief in the accessibility of art for all. In the late 1970s, Patwardhan painted solidly built individuals against a minimal background. ‘Dhakka’ shows a labourer straining to pick up his shirt, the title (which translates as ‘push’ in Hindi) emphasising the effort of this activity. Dignified but worn out, this subject embodies the difficult lives of the working class.

‘Dhakka’ by Sudhir Patwardhan (1977) © 2024 Sudhir Patwardhan. Courtesy of The Artist and Vadehra Art Gallery

Two Men with Handcart by Gieve Patel (1979)

Under a vibrant pink sky, time is suspended as two men pause in their labour for a relaxed chat. Behind them, lightly shaded windows and bricks hint at a dense metropolis under construction. In the 1960s, Gieve Patel, a self-taught artist as well as a celebrated poet, playwright and doctor, began painting urban landscapes inspired by his native Bombay (Mumbai). While he documented the rapidly changing nature of the city around him, his focus remained on its working-class inhabitants. Placing the labourers at the centre of this work, Patel interrogated the impact of India’s social and economic transformations on its people. The artist had believed his use of colour in this work was non-naturalistic, but then was surprised to observe a sunset bathing the entire city in a pink glow. “The problem of how to relate to the given colours of life is full of thrilling ambiguities and possibilities,” he commented in 1985.

‘Two Men with Handcart’ by Gieve Patel (1979) © Gieve Patel. Courtesy of the Peabody Essex. Museum Photography by Barbara Kennedy

Two Men in Benares by Bhupen Khakhar (1982)

Bhupen Khakhar, an accountant by training, was a self-taught artist who took to painting in the 1960s. His early works comprised portraits of tradesmen. In 1980, he began to address his homosexuality, which he had struggled with until then. In this dramatic painting, the intertwined nude lovers are set against a blue background with numerous vignettes unfolding around them. Such narrative representation reveals Khakhar’s interest in fourteenth-century Sienese painting, especially the work of Ambrogio Lorenzetti. Khakhar integrates the lovers into the quotidian reality of the hallowed city of Benares (Varanasi), with its holy men, small shrines and kneeling devotees. By staging this sexual tryst within a religious context, he knowingly props up the erotic against the sacred, and provocatively collapses the boundaries between private and public. First exhibited at Gallery Chemould, Bombay (Mumbai), in 1987, the painting had to be stored away just two days later for fear of protests from the Central Cottage Industries Emporium, in whose premises the gallery was located.

‘Two Men in Benares’ by Bhupen Khakhar (1982) © Estate of Bhupen Khakhar. Note the willies

India Gate by Sunil Gupta (1987)

Staged amongst famous New Delhi landmarks and some cruising sites, these constructed images present the complexities faced by gay men when homosexuality was still a punishable offence in India. Section 377, a colonial law enacted in 1861, criminalised homosexuality and was only repealed by India’s principal court in 2018. The series was realised in 1986 to 1987 through a commission awarded by The Photographer’s Gallery, London, and was for Sunil Gupta “about locating Indian cis men in an international gay landscape”. Born in New Delhi, the artist moved to Canada in 1969 at the age of fifteen. He relocated to the United States prior to settling in London. Accompanied by excerpts of conversations with his subjects, all voluntarily offered, the colour photographs reveal the sentiments of gay Indian men and their vulnerable, clandestine lives. Gupta ensured he had the consent of his subjects to print the photographs, with the understanding that the images would not be shown at the time in India. Finally, in 2004, Gupta exhibited ‘Exiles’ at the India Habitat Centre in New Delhi as a belated, affirmative homecoming.

‘India Gate’ by Sunil Gupta (1987) from the series ‘Exiles’ 1987 © Sunil Gupta. Courtesy the artist and Hales London and New York

Construction Woman Washing Her Face by Sudhir Patwardhan (1998)

Sudhir Patwardhan’s graceful female construction worker as she raises her hands to wash her downcast face. Very economically, Khakhar and Patwardhan imbue simple gestures with tremendous power and emotion, demanding recognition for their subjects.

‘Construction Woman Washing Her Face’ by Sudhir Patwardhan (1998) © 2024 Sudhir Patwardhan. Courtesy of The Artist and Vadehra Art Gallery

House by Vivan Sundaram (1994)

Vivan Sundaram transitioned from painting and drawing in the early 1990s to embrace a broader, spatially oriented approach. ‘House’ portrays his reflections on the changing political landscape and communal tensions in India at the time. Held by a metal armature, the installation elaborates on the concept of refuge. A walled sanctuary cast in kalamkhush (paper handmade from khadi, the hand- spun, natural-fibre fabric promoted by Mahatma Gandhi during India’s anti-colonial struggle), ‘House’’s surface carries embossed emblems of the tools of labour and speaks to collective struggles against power. Alongside a mineral hue reminiscent of coagulated blood, the outer walls exhibit marks of brutality: scattered limbs, jagged outlines of weapons, and closed windows. Within, a pedestal bears a wide-brimmed vessel filled with water, and flickering through the transparent base of the bowl, a fiery video projection conveys an allegory of simmering injustice.

‘House’ by Vivan Sundaram (1994) from the series ‘Shelter’ 1994 to 1999. Photo by Gireesh G.V. Photo courtesy The Estate of Vivan Sundaram

Untitled by Sheela Gowda (1997/2007)

Alongside her explorations with cow dung, Sheela Gowda employed a range of everyday materials in her installations through the 1990s. ‘Untitled’ (1997/2007), made for the show ‘Telling Tales – of Self, of Nation, of Art’ at Victoria Art Gallery, Bath, is her first fully realised installation in which needle and thread are used. For this work, Gowda strung individual needles with threads varying in length from 40 to 133 centimetres. This labour-intensive process was very important for Gowda, who would reject a ball of thread if she encountered a single knot because “the process of threading empowers every inch” of the thread. She then anointed the threads with kumkum paste, and bound them together to form ropes, with a menacing head of needles at the end of each length. ‘Untitled’ comprises of eight such lengths of rope, which allow Gowda to configure and arrange them site-specifically. They travel viscerally along the wall and snake across the floor, intimating a transmuting body, an umbilical cord, intestines, trails of blood. Gowda has described the work as possessing “a very insidious sort of violence … the needles hang at the end almost passively but they have the potential for hurting.”

‘Untitled’ by Sheela Gowda (1997/2007) © Sheela Gowda. Courtesy Museum Gouda

Mild Terrors-II by C. K. Rajan (1991 to 1996)

Using only scissors and glue, C. K. Rajan composed the ‘Mild Terrors II’ series by pasting imagery from discarded popular magazines and dailies onto blank sheets of A4 paper. An erstwhile member of the Indian Radical Painters’ and Sculptors’ Association, Rajan began work on these collages in 1991, the year India liberalised its economy to allow foreign investment. Made quickly and intuitively, the perspective of these small-scale collages is purposefully disorienting. They are replete with rescaled objects and discordant visual mash-ups. Rajan cannily juxtaposed outsized human torsos and limbs (often female) with consumer goods, and inserted them into urban or rural settings to create surreal scenes. They convey the ‘mild terrors’ that lurked behind India’s rapid entry into a global free-market system – the unreported uneven economic development, the social disparities, the displacements. It was a strangely transforming landscape, somewhere between pre-modern, modern and post-modern, captured strikingly in these unsettling collages.

‘Mild Terrors-II’ by C. K. Rajan (1991 to 1996) Courtesy the artist and Kiran Nadar Museum of Art, New Delhi

Installation gallery

The following are my own photos of the exhibition accompanied, where relevant, by the curators’ comments. (I forgot to mention that many of the pictures are displayed on stands made of raw bricks which give the whole thing a…what vibe? Building site? Or are these holey bricks intended to be a characteristic symbol of Indian street scenes?)

Installation view of ‘The Imaginary Institution of India: Art 1975 to 1998’ at the Barbican showing ‘Two Men with Handcart’ by Gieve Patel on a stand made of raw bricks (photo by the author)

The Tools by N. N. Rimzon (1993)

N. N. Rimzon, whose practice was already sculptural, began turning towards a more installation-based approach, as many other artists did in the 1990s. In ‘The Tools’, a figure stands in a state of meditation. Rimzon derived the pose from sculptures of devotees in temple architecture, symbolising non-violence and inner peace. The figure is encircled by iron tools, the broken parts of agricultural equipment. Tension forms between the figure and these mundane objects: strikingly incongruous, the implements threaten violence. ‘The Tools’ exposes the lurking hostilities of the early 1990s with the rise in communalism and the advent of globalisation. In ‘House of heavens’ (1996), on display nearby, similar themes recur. While the human figure is absent, the effects of human action are palpable. A house and an egg rest against each other, intimating the home as a space for solace, refuge and the continuity of life. However, this ideal is destabilised by the iron sword upon which the house precariously rests, signifying the disruptions caused by rising social tensions and their intrusion into people’s lives.

Installation view of ‘The Tools’ by N. N. Rimzon (1993) (photo by the author)

Shamiana by Nilima Sheikh (1996)

The double-sided painted scroll or ‘kanats’ (side screens) of this work centre on the journeys taken by women for devotion, love and celebration in the face of hardship. This nomadic theme is echoed in the installation’s form as a ‘shamiana’, a temporary shelter or gathering place often used as a marriage tent. Nilima Sheikh began designing sets for the feminist theatre troupe Vivadi in 1989. This influenced her painting, and she experimented with ideas of scale and new ways of engaging with viewers. ‘Shamiana’ allows its audience to move around and within the installation. From tender domesticity in ‘Before Nightfall’ to the tragedy of ‘When Champa Grew Up’, and then to a more hopeful paradigm in ‘Shamiana’, Sheikh invokes mythology and other vernacular literary traditions of the Indian subcontinent to explore human conditions of celebrating, mourning, protesting and offering shelter.

Installation view of ‘Shamiana’ by Nilima Sheikh (1996) (photo by the author)

Bronzes by Meera Mukherjee

Meera Mukherjee sought a modernism that would articulate an Indian national identity in the aftermath of British colonisation. Educated at the Delhi Polytechnic College and the Academy of Fine Arts, Munich, she rejected their curriculums which adhered to the western canon of modern art. A grant from the Anthropological Survey of India provided the opportunity to work with Gharua craftsmen in Bastar in central India. She travelled widely, studying the metal-casting techniques of Dhokra artisans in West Bengal, Khoruras and Ghantrars in Odisha, and Sakya craftsmen in Bhaktapur, Nepal. This composite tradition informed Mukherjee’s own use of lost-wax casting, in which a wax model is used as a mould for molten metal. When cooled, the sculpture is finished by hand. Inspired by the devotion with which craftsmen attended sacred subjects, Mukherjee approached the ordinary with similar spiritualism. Small-scale and intricately detailed, Mukherjee’s sculptures elevate figures from everyday village life: labouring artisans in ‘Untitled (Smiths Working under a Tree)’, students in mass protest in ‘Untitled (Andolan)’, and religious devotees in ‘Pilgrims to Haridwar’. Configured in compositions at once rhythmic and organic, these figures from the contemporary world appear subject to larger, celestial forces.

Installation view of one of Meera Mukherjee’s bronzes (photo by the author)

Seven Lives and a Dream’ (1980 to 1991) by Sheba Chhachhi

Sheba Chhachhi’s series of nineteen black-and-white photographs follows seven women activists. Chhachhi became involved with the women’s movement when she returned to her hometown of Delhi in 1980 after completing degrees at the Chitrabani Centre for Social Communication, Calcutta (Kolkata), and the National Institute of Design, Ahmedabad. Amidst a wave of protests against dowry-related violence, Chhachhi photographed her fellow campaigners, the tightly focused images emphasising their emotional intensity. While these images were initially intended for circulation within the movement, Chhachhi felt the need to move beyond documentary photography – a form in which ‘the power of representation’ always remains with the photographer. She also felt that the single image could not adequately capture the complexity of the women, whom she knew personally. Almost a decade later, Chhachhi invited the same women to collaborate on a series of portraits, in settings and with props of their choosing. Satyarani chose to be depicted on the steps of India’s Supreme Court, the location of her decades-long battle for justice for her murdered daughter. Many of the women were photographed within their homes, the private, domestic realm sitting alongside the public forum of street protests. The props – books, family photographs, typewriters, grain – allude to facets of the sitters’ identities, from which emerges an image of the movement that united women across class lines.

Installation view of ‘Seven Lives and a Dream’ (1980 to 1991) by Sheba Chhachhi (photo by the author)

‘When Champa Grew Up’ by Nilima Sheikh (1984 to 1985)

This series of twelve narrative paintings on handmade paper immerses the viewer in the life of Champa, a teenager. At first, she appears as an idealistic girl, her bicycle a symbol of independence. In the following images, however, she is married off while still a child and subjected to abuse in her new home. The series culminates in her dowry-related murder by her husband and parents-in-law. Nilima Sheikh knew the young girl in real life and deliberated upon how to represent her tragedy. The artist explains that she moved away from wall painting because she “didn’t want to trivialise Champa’s fragile story”. The vivid realism of Indian miniature painting, particularly in traditions from the Punjab hills, as well as in East Asian scrolls, informed her method of creating a narrative that unfolds laterally in the unbound series of images.

Installation view of ‘When Champa Grew Up’ by Nilima Sheikh (1984 to 1985) (photo by the author)

Jangarh Singh Shyam and Himmat Shah

Jangarh Singh Shyam did the lovely sequence of ink-on-paper drawings on the wall, featuring serpents, birds, crocodiles and stags, in stylised way which reminded me of illustrations of the nature poems of Ted Hughes. In the foreground is a set of sculpted heads in terracotta by Himmat Shah.

Installation view of ‘The Imaginary Institution of India: Art 1975 to 1998’ at the Barbican showing sculptures by Himmat Shah in the foreground and drawings by Jangarh Singh Shyam on the wall (photo by the author)

Participating artists


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